


sweetie

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cats, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Shenanigans, Immortality, Kittens, M/M, Pets, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), cat pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-11-22 22:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: She’s a cream colored cat, short haired and small in size with a pink nose and curious eyes. She follows Crowley everywhere he goes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY LIBRA SEASON PAPAYA

Aziraphale is positively fascinated by Sweetie.

Sweetie being the name of the cat that’s been living with them in their cottage since they bought it. She lives with them, because Crowley owned her prior, and Aziraphale isn’t certain how he’s supposed to feel about that. Whenever he looks at her for too long, her tail flickering back and forth lazily while she dozes in a patch of sunshine, he begins to ponder how in Heaven Crowley came across a cat— and how on Earth he became attached enough to  _ keep one—  _ and how in  _ Hell  _ he decided to name her  _ Sweetie. _

She’s a cream colored cat, short haired and small in size with a pink nose and curious eyes. She follows Crowley everywhere he goes, spending hours with him in the garden in the morning and dozing on a cushion near the dining table when he cooks in the kitchen. She becomes very talkative in the morning when he wakes up and whenever they return home from being out late at night. She sleeps at the foot of their bed and dozes off sitting on top of the couch while they’re in the living room in the evening and sometimes she even sits with Aziraphale while he reads. 

She’s a very affectionate cat. She purrs loudly and will find any excuse to curl up on to of Crowley— or Aziraphale, on occasion. 

Crowley is especially fond of her. This is what perplexes Aziraphale the most; as long as the angel has known him, Crowley has not been fond enough of any one human to get attached— and Aziraphale has known Crowley as long as humans have been around to get attached to. He finds them boring— repetitive. He’s fascinated by the things they come up with, but for every human he meets, he’s met a dozen others exactly like them. Either way, their lives are so short, anyway, so there’s no point in getting attached.

Which is why Aziraphale is so confused by the presence of Sweetie. Not only does she follow Crowley everywhere, but Crowley is actively  _ delighted  _ by it. When she’s talkative, he talks back _ ;  _ there’s a small patch of catnip in the back of the garden specifically for her; he feeds her bits and pieces of what he’s cooking when he thinks Aziraphale isn’t looking. When she climbs into his lap, he happily picks her up into his arms and pets her until she falls asleep or he falls asleep or they both fall asleep. 

Crowley  _ adores  _ her. Aziraphale is quite endeared by it, and he would find it perfectly innocent if he weren’t worried about how it’s going to affect Crowley when she dies. 

Aziraphale can count the humans Crowley has gotten attached to on one hand, and every time they died it had plunged Crowley into a depression that at best had left him shaken and at worst sent him into a slumber that lasted a century long. They’ve been living in South Downs for nearly a decade, and Sweetie has been with them the entire time. Aziraphale isn’t sure how long Crowley had her before they bought the cottage, but he also knows domestic cats can only live so long;  _ everything  _ can only live so long. If Sweetie is lucky, she’ll live to her early twenties, but even so, she’s at least ten years old now, which means she’s bound to start showing signs of her age soon, and Crowley never likes to be reminded of his ability to outlast.

And yet, she doesn’t slow down. She bounds back and forth across the living room every night around the same time (Crowley tells Aziraphale she’s always done that, when he expresses concern— “s’just something cats do, angel. It’s her silly time.”). She sleeps the same amount and wanders the garden with the same energy and follows Crowley around the house without looking inconvenienced. There’s not a hint of age on her; not a single grey hair.

The spoon clinks against the inside of the cub as Aziraphale stirs the milk into his tea, peering into the living room discreetly; Crowley is laying on the couch, Sweetie curled up on his chest. He’s petting the top of her head, talking to her quietly in a language that’s definitely not English, but Aziraphale doesn’t have the energy to translate it.

He taps the spoon on the edge of the cup and sets it in the sink, taking his tea and trickling into the living room. “Sweetie is, er— getting up in her years,” he comments idly, catching Crowley’s attention.

He smiles. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale blinks, startled by his response. “She’s— very spry for her age.”

Crowley looks confused. “How do you mean?”

Aziraphale frowns. “I just mean— well… I don’t know how long you had her before we moved, but… it just seems like the time might be approaching to think about, er, parting with her.”

He hesitates, before he adds, “You’re notoriously very— er, well, just, not… death affects you quite a lot, my dear, I’m simply a tad worried about how you’ll cope with her passing when it comes about, considering how fond you are of her.”

Aziraphale takes a sip of his tea, and Crowley frowns at him. “Angel, she’s four thousand years old.”

Aziraphale sputters, spilling tea down his chin. “She’s  _ what?!” _

“Thought you knew that,” Crowley says idly, still petting her; she’s hardly stirred, purring loudly.

“You—!” Aziraphale says, looking at her, startled. “Crowley, you’re— you’re not allowed to  _ do  _ that!”

Crowley waves him off, annoyed. “You’re not meant to miracle a twelve dollar bottle of wine into an 1867 Château la Maconne.”

“Crowley, that’s  _ wine,”  _ Aziraphale insists. “She’s— a cat! She’s a living creature! You can’t just keep her alive for your own reasons!”

“Well, I don’t hear her complaining,” Crowley argues. “In fact, she seems quite pleased with the invention of air conditioning. And heating pads.”

“Crowley—!”

“She’s not in any  _ pain,”  _ Crowley insists, petting her affectionately. “She doesn’t even know, angel. She has no concept of time, she’s a cat. She’s just… ever the same. I stuck her somewhere around age three.”

There’s a moment of silence, during which the sound of Sweetie’s purring fills the quiet. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says gently. “You  _ know  _ we’re not supposed to do that.”

“She’s not a person,” Crowley insists quietly, not looking away from her. “She’s not drunk on power, she doesn’t even know what  _ immortality  _ means.”

“You’re going to get in trouble,” Aziraphale says.

“Something tells me Hell has a few bigger grievances with me than keeping a cat alive,” Crowley mutters. He looks up at him. “You’re not gonna change my mind— I’m not going to undo it.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, looking back at Sweetie. Quietly, almost inaudibly, he says, “I can’t bear to part with her, angel.”

Aziraphale softens. He wanders closer, petting Sweetie gently on her head; she leans into the touch, her eyes closed while she purrs happily. “I understand.”

Crowley doesn’t say anything in response, just scratches under her chin and smiles when she preens under the attention.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale is deeply absorbed in his book— has been for hours, in fact— when he’s startled out of his quiet headspace by the sound of a loud banging, followed quickly by a cat screeching and the sound of nails scrabbling on wood. Seconds later, Sweetie comes bolting through the living room and darts into their bedroom.

The back door slams shut and Crowley comes stomping into view, a broom in his hand and an angry look on his face. Aziraphale sits up, shutting his book and setting it on the coffee table. “What on Earth was that all about?”

“It’s that stupid tomcat!” Crowley exclaims; the tosses the broom in the closet and peels his gardening gloves off. “He started showing up because of the catnip and now he keeps trying to— you know!”

“I know?” Aziraphale asks.

“He keeps trying to get her pregnant!” Crowley says, a blush tinging his cheeks, and Aziraphale gives him a smug look.

“You know,” he says, “for someone who was on his hands and knees for me last night, you’re awfully flustered over insinuating that your cat might get pregnant.”

Crowley blushes even harder. “That’s— different. We’re married.”

“So it would be fine if she were married?” Aziraphale asks, amused.

Crowley frowns. “She’s a _ cat. _I don’t want her to get pregnant, all that’d be is trouble.”

He looks angrily back out onto the porch. “And I just think that _ somebody _should know his place and realize he’s not welcome.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says affectionately. “You’re talking to a stray tomcat the way an overprotective father talks to his daughter’s boyfriend.”

Crowley looks mortified at that. “I am _ not _.”

“You very much are,” Aziraphale says. “Is Sweetie fixed?”

“No.”

“Well, if you don’t want her to get pregnant, maybe you should take care of that.”

“Right,” Crowley says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll just take my four thousand year old cat into the vet. I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“How on Earth have you kept a cat for four thousand years _ without _ever taking her to the vet?”

“She never gets sick.”

“Well, how do you achieve that?”

“Through miracle, mostly.”

“So, why don’t you just miracle her infertile?”

Crowley stares at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Do you have any idea how invasive that would be?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “She’s a cat.”

Crowley looks very offended at that. “Uh! She’s _ my _cat! She’s my cat and I love her very much and I’m not about to start miracling her insides around!”

“Alright,” Aziraphale says. “Fine. Forget I suggested it.”

“I will, thank you,” Crowley says. “I’m going to take a shower.”

* * *

Aziraphale doesn’t broach the subject again. Crowley chases the tomcat off several more times in the coming weeks, which is always followed by him loudly complaining, and then having to coax Sweetie out from hiding under the bed. Aziraphale listens to him gripe about it without offering any solutions, because more often than not, his husband just needs to complain. 

Crowley keeps a broom by the back door, and he’s not reserved using it to keep the stray cat away from Sweetie. She seems unbothered either way; she always seems pleased to see the tomcat show up, and she never seems to care when Crowley shows up to shoo him off. He never actually gets mad at _ her. _Aziraphale suspects he’s incapable of getting mad at her.

* * *

They come back from a date in late July, and Sweetie is no where to be found. Crowley wanders around the cottage calling for her, only discovering her when he hears her begin to meow at the back door. He opens it, and she slips inside, darting to the other side of the kitchen and sitting down next to her food bowl, waiting to be fed.

The tomcat is laying on the edge of the porch. Crowley shoos him off with the broom and gets hissed at. He hisses back. Aziraphale watches the entire thing.

“You know who he reminds me of?” he asks as Crowley shuts the back door.

“Who?” Crowley asks, setting the broom back in place.

“Will.”

“Who’s Will?”

“Shakespeare.”

“Oh. Who does he remind you of?”

“Who?”

“Will.”

“Oh, no, the tomcat reminds me of Will.”

Crowley looks Aziraphale dead in the eye as he opens up Sweetie’s dinner. “Angel, if you name that cat, I’m filing for divorce.”

* * *

They’re getting ready for another date in early October, when Sweetie begins to pace rather restlessly. 

“Sweetie,” Crowley calls as he ties his ties in the hallway mirror. He makes several kissy noises and she comes dashing over to him. She sits at his feet for a moment, looking up at him, before she runs into the bedroom.

“Is she alright?” Aziraphale calls as he watches her jump onto the bed and continue her pacing.

“Yeah,” Crowley says, folding his collar down. “She’s just being silly.”

He comes into their room and leans down against the bed. “You’re just being silly, aren’t you? Aren’t you, my sweet girl? Aren’t you?”

She meows, flopping down on top of one of the pillows. Crowley coos and reaches over to pet her.

“Sweetheart,” Aziraphale says, tapping his watch.

“Right,” Crowley says, straightening up. “We’ll be back in a bit,” he says to Sweetie, which Aziraphale thinks is both ridiculous and oddly charming. Sweetie rests her head on her paws and watches them leave.

* * *

They get back incredibly late. It’s a miracle they got back at all, considering the two of them are absolutely plastered. They come slamming into the cottage quite loudly, Crowley getting shoved up against the nearest flat surface and kissed hard. Aziraphale has him by the collar of his button-up, working messily to undo the buttons, having already wrestled him free of his tie. Crowley isn’t complaining in the slightest, as long as the kissing doesn’t stop.

Aziraphale gets as far as halfway through the buttons, before Crowley suddenly decides he wants to be laying down while they do this. He grabs Aziraphale and drags him to their room, but even then they don’t make it two steps through the door before he’s getting shoved up against the wall and kissed again.

They stay like that for several moments, drunk and getting drunker on kisses and roaming hands, distracted only by the fact that Sweetie is somewhere in the room and meowing at them aggressively enough to consider it shouting.

Crowley breaks the kiss, his head thumping against the wall. “S— Sweetie,” he stutters, blinking as his eyes scan the room for her. “You can’t— can’t sleep on the bed, tonight— we— er— we…”

He finally spots her, laying on the pillows. It takes him a moment to process what he’s looking at, but when he does, he tries to do so many things at once, he nearly chokes on his own tongue. The speed at which he sobers up nearly gives him whiplash, and the alcohol being evicted from his bloodstream so quickly makes a loud popping noise that makes Aziraphale jump. Crowley shoves him off, not meaning to be rough, simply caught up in his excitement.

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, rushing closer to the bed as fast as he can. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—”

He drapes himself across the duvet gently, not wanting to disturb Sweetie, nor the quartet of kittens currently curled up next to her. 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale says, having followed his lead in areas concerning sobriety. “Did she… on the _ pillows _?”

Crowley shushes him, inching closer. Sweetie is purring quite loudly, clearly pleased both with herself and the four kittens tucked into her side. Crowley makes several small, incomprehensible noises, clearly adoring and clearly only aimed at her. He reaches out to pet her, and she accepts, shutting her eyes and somehow managing to purr even louder. 

Aziraphale watches the exchange for a moment, then says, “Remind me again how it’ll only be trouble if she gets herself pregnant?”

“Hush,” Crowley snaps, throwing him a glare. “They’re clearly _ sleeping. _”

“Well, I’m not the one crowding them.”

Crowley makes a face, looking back at Sweetie. “I’m not crowding them, angel, I am laying near them and looking at them.”

“You’re nearly on top of them.”

“Well, she’s not swatting me away.”

“Uh-huh,” Aziraphale says. He watches his husband coo over the kittens for a moment, and then seems to think of something and leaves the room.

Crowley scratches behind Sweetie’s ear, humming. “Am I a bad dad?” he asks, even more willing to coddle now that he’s alone. “I didn’t even notice you were pregnant. Silly me. I would have taken better care of you if I had realized, my sweet girl. Seems you took care of everything all on your own, though. Clever girl… you’ll make a very good mum. And they’re all very lovely.”

He hesitates, then gently reaches out to roll one over. Sweetie doesn’t protest, but she does watch very intently. He does the same for the other three, very slowly, finishing up just as Aziraphale reenters the room. 

“Angel,” he says, turning to look at him and smiling, “it’s four girls—”

A cat jumps up on the bed, and Crowley gasps angrily and shoves it off with his foot.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaims.

“Did you let that feral deadbeat _ in the house _?!” Crowley snaps, scandalized.

Aziraphale pinches the bridge of his nose. “Crowley, if he’s the father, he has a right to see her and the kittens.”

“This isn’t a children’s custody court,” Crowley says protectively. “I don’t want him in the house! Let alone up on the bed!”

“Crowley, you just _ kicked him _.”

“I did not _ kick him. _I nudged him off the bed with my foot.”

“You kicked him.”

“I nudged him!”

“_ Crowley. _”

Crowley rolls his eyes. He looks back at Sweetie. “Look, all I know is that if there’s ever a cat in the world _ worthy _of having kittens with Sweetie, it’s not that one.”

“And yet she gave birth to four kittens.”

Crowley purses his lips. “Just because he got her pregnant doesn’t mean he was worthy of it.”

“Well, she allowed it.”

“Only because I wasn’t here!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “He’s pacing by the bed. Just let him up to see them.”

“He’s dirty.”

“I miracled him clean.”

“Angel, I don’t want them together,” Crowley says sternly. “What if he ends up getting her pregnant _ again _?”

Aziraphale lets out an exasperated sigh and snaps his fingers. Crowley gasps again, leaning over Sweetie defensively. “What did you do?!”

“Crowley—”

“I told you that was invasive!”

“_ Crowley— _”

“She just gave birth!”

“I didn’t _ do _anything to her!” Aziraphale exclaims. “I fixed William.”

Crowley scrunches his nose. “I know you did not just name him.”

“He’s a father, he deserves a name.”

Crowley keeps his nose scrunched up, but he peers over the bed anyhow. The tomcat— _ William, _he’ll eventually agree to with an exasperated sigh— is sitting at the base looking considerably cleaner. If he’s noticed his testicles are gone, he doesn’t seem too concerned about it. He does hiss at Crowley when he sees him, though. Crowley hisses back.

“_ Crowley, _” Aziraphale says. “Please play nice.”

Crowley grumbles, and then he slowly climbs off the bed. “He can have five minutes.”

William jumps up onto the bed as soon as Crowley is off it. Sweetie seems very pleased by his presence. Crowley moves to stand next to Aziraphale, buttoning his shirt back up before folding his arms. “I still don’t like that you named him.”

“Well, I’m not particularly fond that she gave birth on our pillows.”

“I already miracled it clean.”

“Yes, but _ I’ll _always knows what she did.”

“Boo hoo.”

They give each other a look. Crowley checks his watch. “Four minutes.”

“You sound like an overprotective father again.”

Crowley glares at him. “He knocked her up! _ He knocked her up! _”

“I seem to recall you were the one who left her outside.”

Crowley makes a face. Aziraphale continues. “As well as that, female cats are very resilient when they have suitors they don’t care for. I’m certain if she did not _ want _ him to— as you put it— _ knock her up, _she never would have gotten pregnant.”

Crowley pouts. He checks his watch again. “Three minutes.”

He eventually shoos William off the bed and out of the room completely. “He’s not sleeping in the house.”

“I’ll put a blanket and some water out for him,” Aziraphale says, turning to do just that. “And she’s _ not _sleeping there.”

“I know!” Crowley calls after him, exasperated. Once he’s gone, he turns back to Sweetie. “I’m sorry about him.”

When Aziraphale returns, Crowley has successfully ushered Sweetie and her four kittens into a cardboard box lined with towels and moved them to the floor next to the bed. He’s still sitting next to them and cooing.

“What time is it?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley checks his watch. “Nearly one.”

Aziraphale hums. “I’ll check the phonebook in the morning to see if there’s a shelter we can bring them to—”

“What?!” Crowley snaps, turning around to look at him incredulously. “Angel, they’re hardly a day old!”

“Well, I obviously didn’t mean we’d separate them from their mother _ right this second _.”

“We’re not separating them from their mother at all!”

Aziraphale blanches. “You’re not actually expecting me to agree to keeping _ five more cats _are you?”

“I’m expecting you to agree to keeping _ four _ more cats,” Crowley counters. “I don’t want that other one.”

“Crowley.”

Crowley looks down at the kittens, then gives Aziraphale a pleading look.

Aziraphale doesn’t budge. “_ Crowley. _”

“_ Angel…” _Crowley whines.

Aziraphale lets out an exasperated sigh, sensing where this is going— or rather, where it’s already gone. “What did you name them?”

Crowley hesitates, then looks down at the kitten closest to him and rubs her head with the tip of his finger. “Well, I was thinking of calling this one Blanche.”

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if you enjoyed!! you can find me on [tumblr](https://paintedvanilla.tumblr.com/) :0)


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